


they're hiding inside of me, corpses on ice

by curiouscorvid (prometheanTactician)



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Human Michael, M/M, Mary Keay is her own warning tbh, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:20:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22026970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prometheanTactician/pseuds/curiouscorvid
Summary: But as he goes on his forty-eighth hour awake, his twenty-second without food, he's getting... irritable, to put it lightly. The glances are getting on his nerves. Every little noise Michael makes is driving him up the wall. He grits his teeth and tries not to slam the cupboard too loudly as he makes another cup of coffee. He keeps telling himself Michael hasn't done anything wrong. It doesn't do anything to quell the completely unnecessary rage bubbling just beneath his skin.
Relationships: Gerard Keay/Michael, Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley
Comments: 26
Kudos: 367





	they're hiding inside of me, corpses on ice

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Runs In The Family by Amanda Palmer

Nightmares are never brief. They capture people when they're asleep, but refuse to let them go when they wake up.

At least that's how it is in Gerard's experience. 

He knows that he's dreaming. He can tell, because the only time he sees his mother anymore is in his nightmares. He barely remembers her face anymore, which is a mercy he tries to force himself to be happy about. In his nightmares, her face is a vague outline of cruel eyes above a gleefully sadistic smile. She never stops smiling in his nightmares. No matter what's happening to them, or around them.

She is screaming at him, and still she smiles. Like she's delighted by the way his shoulders hunch. Like she's amused by how he shrinks. Like the way she hurts him is the funniest joke she's ever heard.

She always did get a kick out of scaring him.

The dream doesn't detail what they're fighting about. It doesn't have to. It's a memory, an old one, from his early teens. There were news reports about something gruesome that he can't separate from every other horrifying event from his youth. A Leitner was involved, and so his mother wished to be involved as well. He disagreed. She didn't like that.

"I just don't think-"

"Did I ask what you think?" She demands, scathing. Scoffing. "You're ignorant. A petulant, spoiled child. Everything I've done for you and when I ask for something in return, this is the thanks I get? Absolutely ungrateful."

"It isn't a good idea, mum! You know that! You saw what happened to those people, that could happen to us-!"

"'It isn't a good idea, mum!'" She mocks, and he feels a familiar rage burn inside of him. An anger she nursed in him from a young age that never really faded. "'We could get hurt, mum! I'm scared, mum!'"

"I never said-!" He tries to argue, face burning with shame.

"You're pathetic!" She cuts him off. Smacks him across the face. The blow doesn't faze him, really. It's the least that she's ever done to him. "We have a legacy to rekindle and you're worried about your safety? You're afraid? Of what? That you'll be hurt? Maimed? Killed? You think that matters?" She's hissing the words in his face. He's pressed up against a wall that he doesn't think was there a moment ago. "I have news for you, child. You. Don't. Matter. There are more important things at stake here than you and your ridiculous notions of self-preservation. So grab that awful coat of yours and get ready. We are going for that book."

His throat is tight, but he doesn't let his voice get weak. Doesn't let it waiver. He can't show weakness in front of her like that. She'll pounce on it in an instant.

"Mum, it isn't about me. You're still recovering from last time! What if something happens to you? You're not well, you need to-"

"Did I ask you?" She laughs her derision, cackles her contempt. "Don't waste your time worrying about me, child. I don't need the concern of someone so pitiful. I was doing this long before you came along and I'll be doing it long after something better than either of us has you for dinner." She says it with such certainty. Like it's guaranteed that one of the things they deal with will kill him, and she is completely at ease with that. It doesn't bother him, if she's fine with that. He is too. He was raised to be. He was raised to think of himself as temporary.

It shuts him up, though. No matter how much it's been beaten into his thick skull that she doesn't give a damn about him, he's only eleven. A child. He can't stand there and listen to her go on another rant about how she can't wait for something to kill or claim him so he can be out of her way or made into something useful. Not again.

Instead, he wakes up. He wakes up, a grown man in his own bed. His mother is dead and her page is burned. He exhales slowly, forces his muscles to relax from how tense he's gotten. An arm extends, his hand feeling around for something in the bed, but finds nothing there. There's a moment of confusion before he connects the cold emptiness of the bed with the warm humming coming from the kitchen. Michael is fine.

Gerard is also fine. He's fine as he takes a deep, shaking breaths. He's fine as he traces the patterns on the ceiling with his eyes in an attempt to stop seeing that dreadful smile. He's fine as he forces himself to get out of bed, forces himself to stand steadily on trembling legs. He continues being fine. He will keep being fine.

He is fine.

\-------

He is not fine.

There's no denying it at this point. It's been almost forty-eight hours since he slept and he still hasn't risked going back to bed. He hasn't eaten for at least half of that time, too nauseous from exhaustion, and he knows he looks as bad as he feels. Michael keeps glancing at him nervously. 

When night had fallen again after the nightmare, Gerry had told him not to worry. He just had something to do and then he'd head to bed later. A blatant lie, but Michael could never quite believe someone he cared about would be dishonest with him, so he went off to bed. There was no anger from Michael the next morning when he woke up to find Gerry still in the living room watching documentaries on the couch. No disappointment or accusations. He'd made some lame joke about Gerard having fallen asleep on the couch, told him it was bad for his back. It was obvious that Gerard hadn't slept, and obvious that Michael knew that. But he just kissed Gerard good morning and went to make him coffee.

Michael is nice like that. He likes to take care of the people close to him. It makes Gerry feel awful for lying to him, for not just being honest and outright about what's bothering him, but he really can't stand the idea of sitting Michael down and spilling his guts about what's going on. He doesn't want to give his late mother a foothold in this aspect of his life. He doesn't want her nails sinking into the threads of his relationship. Michael has never met her, Michael is untainted and untouched by her. She can't ruin him like she ruined everything else in Gerard's life, and Gerard is determined to keep it that way.

But Michael is a worrier, through and through. He keeps looking over to Gerry, analyzing him when he thinks Gerry won't notice. He keeps opening his mouth to say something. He keeps second guessing and keeping quiet. He tries to get Gerry to eat something but gives up when annoyance starts to colour Gerry's tone. It's clear as day that he wants to help, but Michael is always so convinced that Gerry is one wrong move away from leaving him, and that holds him back.

Gerard knows all of this, because he knows Michael. He knows Michael is consumed with anxiety as he knits on the couch. He knows Michael is worried sick about him but imagining all the worst-case scenarios that could occur if he asks about it. He knows that his own silence is hurting Michael, but he does nothing about it. He feels like complete and utter shit for it. At first.

But as he goes on his forty-eighth hour awake, his twenty-second without food, he's getting... irritable, to put it lightly. The glances are getting on his nerves. Every little noise Michael makes is driving him up the wall. He grits his teeth and tries not to slam the cupboard too loudly as he makes another cup of coffee. He keeps telling himself Michael hasn't done anything wrong. It doesn't do anything to quell the completely unnecessary rage bubbling just beneath his skin.

He hears hesitant footfalls approaching him.

"Gerry," Michael starts. He sounds tentative, and logically Gerry knows it's because he's wary of saying the wrong thing. But irrationally, he fixates on the idea that Michael is being cautious out of some belief that Gerry is fragile. It pisses him off in a major way.

"Michael." He replies curtly, glaring daggers at the coffee pot. Maybe he can summon some latent Desolation-aligned powers and boil it instantly.

"Look, I'm not trying to be..." Michael stops short, rethinking. He takes a breath. "I'm worried. About you, I mean. I know you haven't slept, not since... the night before last, I think? And you didn't have supper, and you look really pale, and-"

"The point, Michael. Get to the point." If he didn't look exhausted already then his voice would give him away, but really, who has time for Michael's constant rambling?

(Usually he has all the time in the world for Michael. Usually.)

"I think you should sleep."

"That so."

It isn't a question, but Michael takes it as one.

"Well, actually, eat something first. Then sleep. Something small though, if you're not feeling well, and it's not a good idea to have heavy meals before bed anyway as it can actually disrupt your sleep patterns and-"

"I'm fine, thanks."

"You're... really not, though." Michael informs him softly, gently, and Gerard is clenching his teeth so hard he can taste blood.

"Don't waste your time worrying about me, Michael."

"It- it isn't a waste of time! You're my- I mean, I care about you. A lot."

"How sweet."

"Gerry." Finally, some backbone. Nothing like meeting genuine love with sarcastic derision to piss off a partner. "Look, if you're not going to consider my concern as a reason to take care of yourself... consider our work maybe?"

It should worry him, a distant part of him says, that Michael thinks Gerard values their work over Michael's feelings. But all he feels is frustration that Michael is bringing it up as if he knows better than Gerry.

"I mean," he continues. "What if Gertrude calls with an assignment, or something comes to the apartment, or we get wind of some sort of emergency? These things are already so touch and go, and you'll be at a disadvantage right? You need to be at your best if something happens." A pause. "And also I am genuinely very worried and would greatly appreciate if you'd at least take a nap."

He adds that last bit on quietly, in one quick breath. Gerry scoffs, gripping the counter so hard his knuckles are white.

"I don't need your worry, Michael. I don't need your concern." He snaps, harsher than he means to, but then he can't stop himself. He turns around finally, faces Michael's well-meant distress and wringing hands head on. "I've done this all my life, long before meeting you, and I took care of myself just fine. I know my limits, and quite frankly I got hurt a lot less when I didn't have to waste energy babysitting you. I've been doing this work before you came around, and I'll still be doing it after some horrific eldritch monstrosity tears you to pieces. I'll be fine, and I've been fine, and I'm currently fucking _fine._ So how's about you do me a favour and get off my back, hm?"

He doesn't yell. He doesn't scream. But he watches as Michael's expression goes from anxiety, to shock, to hurt, to betrayal. Gerry isn't sure why he feels so uneasy, until heartbreak eases its way into Michael's eyes like it's coming home after an extended vacation. Michael swallows hard, looks away, and nods. Like he's agreeing with something Gerry said. He stops wringing his hands and crosses his arms, hugging himself. 

"... Right. Sorry." He begins, and Gerry starts to relax. Starts to lower his defenses. The part of him that knows he's being harsh starts to hedge into the front of his mind. He opens his mouth to backtrack when Michael continues. "That's good to know, though."

Gerry's mind comes up blank. What's good to know? Did he reveal some sort of knowledge when he'd spoken? God, he can't even remember what he said.

"What is?"

"That... that you'll be okay? When something kills me, I mean." Michael's voice wavers, but he isn't angry. He isn't accusing. Gerry's chest picks up on what's going on before his head does, constricting painfully while his brain still struggles in the haze. Michael glances at him again, smiling like he's trying to reassure Gerry that nothing is wrong. "I mean, I'm glad you won't be too... upset. I wouldn't want you to be. It's pretty much inevitable, I know, and I don't want you to hurt. You'll be fine. I'll be dead but you'll- you'll be fine-"

He can't keep it up. His voice breaks, and so does Gerard's heart. Michael moves quickly to wipe the tears that start falling, trying weakly to laugh it off. Gerry's mind is struggling, trying to figure out what he's missing, why Michael is crying.

But of course Michael is crying. Most people would, after all, after being told that their partner wouldn't care if they died.

And that-

God, isn't that basically what Gerard just said?

Panic breaks through the haze. Gerry's eyes widen, his heart stops. He inhales sharply, almost like a hiss of pain, and he's moving forward before he can think about what he's doing. All he can process is that Michael's shoulders are hunched and shaking, his head is bowed, his hand is pressed to his eyes to hide the tears- Michael makes a small sound, like something inside of him is breaking, like he's in pain- Because he _is_ in pain, and Gerry-

Gerry did this to him.

He expects to be pushed away when he wraps his arms around Michael, but that's silly. It's silly because this is Michael, and the guy will put up with just about anything to keep the people he loves. People take advantage of that constantly. Gerry never thought he'd be able to count himself amongst their numbers. He'd taken pride in knowing he deserved Michael's trust.

At the moment, he doesn't feel like he deserves much of anything at all.

Michael falls into him, buries his face in the crook of his neck and clutches Gerard like that's all that's keeping him upright. He's sobbing, muffled by the fabric of Gerry's shirt, and Gerard-

Gerard is at a loss.

What can he say? He knows what he should say but- but an apology feels so awkward and empty and useless. An apology isn't enough. He doesn't know how to fix this. He's never said anything so horrible to someone he cares about. He never even thought he would. Didn't think he was the type. He thought he was better than that.

Better than her.

"I'm sorry." He finally manages, because maybe it isn't enough but it's sure as hell a start. "God- I'm so sorry, Michael, I didn't- I don't- I wasn't thinking, I don't know why I said that, it isn't even true, I-" he doesn't know if Michael is listening. If Michael can hear him. He's crying so hard it seems unlikely he can hear anything at all. "I couldn't handle it, if something happened to you. It would destroy me. I- I'd never forgive myself, you mean so much to me- I love you, I love you, please don't- please don't think different. Please don't think I wouldn't care. I care. I promise I care."

He really has no right to judge the way Michael rambles, the way he's carrying on. Jumbled apologies and words of comfort, clutching Michael to his chest like it would literally kill him to let go. He speaks the words into mussed up blond curls, presses kisses in between sentences. The collar of his shirt is soaked with tears. He doesn't care about that at all. The only thing that matters is how hard Michael is shaking. The only thing that matters is that Michael is still apologizing between ragged sobs.

Gerard doesn't shush him. Maybe it would be considered comforting, but he doesn't want to risk silencing anything Michael has to say at the moment. So he just... keeps apologizing. Keeps holding him.

He doesn't know what else to do.

"I- I'll go to bed, okay?" He tries. "I'll grab something quick to eat, like you suggested, and I'll get some sleep. You were right, I'm- I'm not fine. I'm tired and cranky and fucked up but that's no excuse. I shouldn't have taken it out on you, you were only trying to help and you were right. You were right, Michael, I should've listened to you."

The adrenaline from his moment of realization is wearing off just as Michael's sobs begin quieting down. It seems they're both running low on energy, and it occurs to Gerry for the first time that Michael likely didn't get much sleep without him in the first place and- and had he actually seen Michael eat much that day? He can't remember. He hadn't been paying attention. 

"Do- do you wanna go lie down?" He offers, hating how unsure he sounds. "I'll bring something in for you. Grapes or- or crackers or something? Unless you want something different? I-" He breaks off as Michael pulls away from him shakily, sniffling and dragging the back of his sleeve across his damp cheeks. Gerard waits in wide-eyed silence, hanging off of whatever words Michael decides to grace him with.

"... Do you mean it?"

"Which bit?"

"All that. About... caring if something were to happen to me." He looks so uncertain. So hesitant to ask, like he's afraid of the answer. Gerard doesn't start crying too, but it's a near thing just then.

"...Yeah. Yeah, Michael, I mean it." His voice is wrecked with emotion, heavy with regret. "I never should have- I shouldn't have let you think otherwise. Not even for a moment."

Michael smiles shakily at him, and Gerard feels sick. He doesn't deserve that smile.

"I'd like to stay out here with you, until you turn in. I... don't really want to be alone just now." Michael tells him, and Gerard certainly knows the feeling.

"Alright." He nods, runs a gentle hand through Michael's hair and inhales unsteadily when Michael leans into the touch. "I just need as much time as it takes to make you some hot chocolate, then we can go to bed."

Finally, some light returns to Michael's eyes. 

"Hot chocolate?"

"I figure it's the least I can do, yeah."

"I didn't realize we had any?"

"I um. Picked some up, a few days ago. It was meant to be a bit of a... surprise, I guess, but-" he starts to feel uncomfortable, admitting he'd wanted to do something nice for Michael. It makes him vulnerable when he admits he cares about someone else's happiness. 

But Michael is smiling so genuinely, so brightly, and Gerard is quite certain he'd do anything if he could keep seeing that smile.

"But this is... fine. It's fine."

And for once, he means it.

**Author's Note:**

> Listen... sometimes u just gotta write some bullshit about your fears of turning out like your abuser


End file.
